I am what Cere made me – The Second Sister

Fever hallucinations deafened the gnawing heat running its electric fangs across Trilla's bones. Darkness folded into an oily vignette of the temple library, where she sat on the second floor surrounded by three piles of datapads. She had meticulously separated each collection based on their subjects. The history of the Jedi Order, various lightsaber forms and plenty of philosophical musings on the Force.

Her enthusiasm was only limited by her rank as padawan, and Trilla already felt the allure of the forbidden subjects restricted to a master's eyes. Overhead, a starless black sky visible through the skylight confirmed it was one of her late night study sessions. Spates of insomnia became an inescapable reality as a sense of impeding catastrophe fell upon the shoulders of the Republic.

Masters on the council whispered of a rising darkness. And while they remained paralyzed by inaction, Trilla watched the universe grow hostile, as conspiratorial shadows spoke in hushed tones. Crooked figures in the alleyways of Coruscant trailed her on short sojourns out of the temple. Devoured by inconsolable anxieties about her place in the universe, Trilla receded inward, isolating herself from all those around her. Including Cere, to whom these fears went unvoiced.

Trilla found she preferred the solitude. For it brought with it a reprieve from the jeers of others. Her eyelids heavy, she clicked off the datapad in her hand and yawned. On the black screen, she snickered, seeing her reflection. Her appearance was positively ghoulish. Puffy bags under her eyes were accented by a preference for smoky eyeshadow and harsh eyeliner. Adding to her intimidating presentation was her umber robe, the cowl of which she liked to slink into when lectured by her superiors.

Many of Trilla's peers found her frightening and gave her plenty of space. Especially as she delved into the more esoteric writings of former Jedi Master Dooku. Who Trilla found to be nothing short of an inspiration. The best duelist of his era and his belief in a greater role for the Jedi in the galaxy excited the fantasies of a teenager who hoped to etch her name alongside his in the library's annuls. She had already gone so far as to record a few of her own philosophical thoughts on the relationship between the Force, the body and the lightsaber. But youthful embarrassment motivated her to keep them hidden.

"I thought I'd find you here." Cere's voice shattered the serenity of the setting, bringing with it the passive judgment of a master's authority.

"Master, I was just finishing up for the night," Trilla said, reordering the datapads back into their proper sets to be returned to the shelves.

"Quite an intensive study, you have here." Cere peered over her pupil's shoulder. "I take it you're still not sleeping."

"It's nothing that I can't handle."

"How long has it been?" A question born of concern, but expressed as the knife of disapproval.

"Four months… I think." Trilla tugged on her braid. Back then, her hair was a velvety mane of sable, flowing beyond her shoulders. Trilla leaned into her hand, the cloak of exhaustion wrapping her in its heavy embrace. "There is something out there, master. It won't be ignored forever."

Cere knew of the thoughts that plagued her learner, but she never decided on how to best approach them. Walking around the table, she leaned against the railing. "We cannot predict the future. Trying to do so is a path that only ends in darkness."

"I've told you before, I'm not trying to predict the future. But surely you have felt it… The cold… It creeps in everywhere now. Even these halls are chilled to the bone." She did not meet her master's gaze, keeping her attention on the table between them. "Now the rumor is the Sith have returned."

"A rumor is not something you should lose sleep over. Staying centered in the present is all we can do and trust the Force to guide us through uncertainty," Cere said, softening her tone. "The Sith are ancient history."

"Master Dooku would disagree." Trilla tapped the leftmost datapad. "He theorized some devotees went underground and continued the practices."

"Master Dooku was a high-minded philosopher with an inclination for paranoia." Cere never appreciated her Padawan's starry-eyed adoration of the old master. Finding it made Trilla easily distracted. "He saw corruption everywhere, even where it never existed. It is why he left the Order."

"But what if he was right?" Trilla pushed the issue. "Maybe he chose to leave because no one wanted to hear the truth." She resented the sound of her voice warbling. "You're afraid too, master. There is a sickness stalking all of us. Some might call it apathy."

Anger glided off her words like a chef's knife preparing a cut of meat. Cere shifted. "You're exhausted, Trilla. Have you discussed these concerns with Master Yoda? He was Dooku's teacher, after all."

Trilla clicked her tongue. "All Master Yoda knows how to do is regurgitate dogmas." Realizing she was trembling, Trilla's cheeks reddened, and she slid her hands into her sleeves. Crossing them beneath her breast, she tried to resist the fingers of ice running along her extremities. "Everyone buries their heads in the sand, trying to pretend this Republic isn't straining at the seams."

"Trilla," Cere said firmly, before stepping closer. "These anxieties are eating you alive and if you refuse everyone's help, I am worried they will consume you."

Trilla took a deep, introspective breath, filling her lungs. She exhaled through her front teeth, massaging her neck. "I'm sorry, master. You're right. I'll make some time to speak to Master Yoda."

Cere nodded, satisfied. She came around, kneeling in front of her Padawan. "Trilla. You're wise beyond your years and are asking questions many here have never even entertained. But the Force, it is a flowing stream that guides us. You must stop trying to control its pattern and allow it to take you to your intended destination."

This statement brought the shadows back to Trilla's face as her eyes darted away. "And what if its intended destination for me is one in darkness?"

"The Force can only bring one to the dark's threshold. It is your choice to feed it, and Trilla, your heart, is far too gentle." Cere smiled, keeping a healthy degree of professionalism. "I've seen you teaching the younglings about our temple's flora. They hang off your ever word."

An elusive smile lit Trilla's face, then faded. "Some of them are quite gifted."

"Like someone else I know." Cere squeezed her Padawan's shoulder. "Come, why do you show me what you have learned?"

Taking sides opposite of one of the temple's many pavilions, their lightsabers took over the conversation. A discordant melody echoed off the quiet stone awash in the glow of a sleeping cityscape. Trillions of twinkling lights, each representing a multitude of living beings and their individual paths.

In the high walls of the Jedi Temple, it was easy to forget that the Force bound all life together in its intricate web. The most vulnerable were connected to those of affluence. Those with little aptitude for the Force to those with limitless potential to wield it. But without these contrasts there is no balance, and sometimes, the Force tips the scales to restore said balance. An adherent of stagnation, Cere lacked the capacity to see beyond the scriptures; she could not see her beloved Padawan was already receding from her influence.

As Trilla had taken her first step from the light. To question dogma is to realize its incompleteness and ready the self for a fall. Adhering to her master's advice, Trilla humored few thoughts during their duel as she focused entirely on the movements of her body. A regal stance, marked with aristocratic flair she was the portrait of a fencer.

And to Cere's surprise, her lightsaber was knocked away with a simplistic flourish that flowed into a masterful parry. Trilla stepped off, bringing the hilt into her off-hand. "That's a motion Master Dooku used during his trial."

Impressed, Cere took her lightsaber back with a sagely look in her eyes. "Not bad, but I do believe Master Dooku was blindfolded."

From her robe, Trilla revealed a satin blindfold. "I've been practicing that as well." She tied it around her head before their match began anew. It was a deft dance, but despite her talent, Trilla struggled to acclimatize to a lack of eyesight. Her steps were clumsy, disrupting her tempo, and after a poorly timed feint, Trilla was beaten. Removing her blindfold, she took Cere's outstretch hand. Hoisted up, Trilla sighed, embarrassed. "Well, training dummies are a little more predictable."

"Still, you display excellent control," Cere said sincerely, clipping her lightsaber to her belt. "But there is a difference between relying on instinct and listening to the Force."

A lecture was to be expected, so Trilla stepped over to the edge of the pavilion, where several species of fern grew in all directions. "While the Force can guide instinct, I believe sometimes, the Force accommodates an act of instinct. It is why far more talented duelists can lose to a beginner by sheer chance."

It was a page of her efforts at theorizing. Cere walked up to her Padawan's side. "Is that not also the will of the Force?"

"I'm not so sure. As the Force has already exerted its influence on the outcome through the circumstances of birth," Trilla said thoughtfully, placing her finger beneath the fern's blueish-green leaves. "Take this fern, for example. It is positioned perfectly to collect the most sunlight and thereby to the Force, is more worthy of life than the one here." She pinched the smaller fern of the pair. "Unless we of course assume the Force is fallible. That its guiding presence is flawed and to be viewed with skepticism."

Cere exhaled sharply, peering at the horizon. "Now there is an idea I wish Master Cordova was available to hear."

Trilla expected as much. She sighed. "I'm tired, master. You've given me plenty to meditate on."

She left Cere standing there alone, and years later, the Second Sister returned to her home as a stranger. Passing through the empty halls, void of the dignified steps of its residents, she reflected on the Force's will. Perhaps it had always intended her fate to be one of darkness.

Or maybe it intended for her to die in the Grand Inquisitor's chair. The Second Sister was an aberration of the Force's grand designs; one who resisted its cruel demands. Death or dark was hardly a choice any rational being would make. The dark was the path of victims who abused by the strong, tolerated it no longer. To be condemned for their ability to hang on no matter what was thrown at them.

The Second Sister found herself in the pavilion of that night. She stepped up to the balcony, finding the fern was still growing strong. The Second Sister removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm, and touched one of the largest leaves with a gloved finger. "You've changed a lot since I last saw you…"

She scowled. "Why not give your brother a chance?" The Second Sister choked her fist around the fern's stem, mangling it in her grasp until it snapped in half. Pleased by her intervention, she scattered the remains over the edge.